Ordinary Hero
by SmokeyTV
Summary: It doesn't always take super powers or super strength to be a hero.


**This story was written for the 14th round of the Nick Fic Song Challenge at Talk CSI. The inspiration was the song, "Superman Tonight", by Bon Jovi, and lyrics quoted here belong to them.**

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Ordinary Hero

_You're looking for a hero…_

_Tonight I swear I'd sell my soul to be a hero for you_

"You're really gonna get it, Nicky!" The older kids would have laughed if they weren't just as scared as he was. First of all, he might really be hurt. Second of all…

"What's going on out here?"

…there was their father to worry about. He had just pulled up next to the stable in a pickup truck and was yelling through his open window. "I asked what's going on? You kids are late for supper and you've got your mother worried."

The Stokes children…all except for 6-year-old Nick…came over to the truck. The oldest of the girls spoke up. "Nick fell, Dad."

Their father leaned his head over to look past them and saw the little boy sitting on the ground near the fence, his back to them and holding his right elbow. "What happened? Is he hurt?"

"We don't know," she answered. "I _told_ him to stay away while we were riding. I _told_ him you said not to come up here. I _told_ him…"

"All right…all right," he quieted her. Some of the children had started to climb into the bed of the truck, and he called back to them, "No, no, no…out of there! You're walking down to the house." He turned back to the girl. "Tell your mother I'll be along in a little bit."

"Yes, sir," she answered without hesitation. She gathered her sisters and brother and they left for the house, some of them walking, some running on ahead.

Once the children were on their way, he got out of the truck and walked over to where his son was sitting. If the boy heard his father coming, he did not show it, but his shaking shoulders betrayed the fact that he was crying quietly. His father stood looking down on him from behind. "Nick?"

He pulled his arm in closer to himself and lowered his head a little more toward his knees which were pulled up. He sniffed loudly but did not look up.

"Nick, I'm talking to you."

Slowly, he turned his dark-haired head and looked up at his father. "Hi, Dad," he said tentatively.

"Are you hurt?"

The little boy quickly put his head down and shook it.

His father cocked his head to one side and then crouched down beside him. "Hmmm…that's funny. Because you're holding your arm and you're crying."

"I'm not crying." He shook his head harder.

"No? Look at me, Nicky."

He tried to inconspicuously wipe his face before looking at his father.

"Let me see." His father held out a hand and waited for a moment before his son reluctantly moved his arm out where he could see it. The elder Stokes took the small arm in his large hands and looked it over, noticing a sizeable bruise forming around the elbow. "Can you bend it?" he asked.

Large, liquid brown eyes looked up at him and the boy nodded and then tried to prove it by moving his arm, but it would move only a little bit and he let out a small whimper in spite of himself.

"Okay…okay…don't move it…keep it still. How did this happen?"

Nick looked at the fence and then toward the stable where the horses were gathered. He lowered his head and mumbled something.

"I can't hear you, Nick. Speak up, please."

He looked up at his father with a sad face, his lower lip trembling. "I just wanted to see the horses."

"Were you climbing on the fence?"

The boy nodded.

"Didn't I tell you not to come up here and especially not to climb on the fences?"

He nodded again. "I'm sorry, Dad." A single tear rolled down his cheek, but he didn't wipe at it, hoping that his father wouldn't notice it. "I just wanted to see the horses," he said again in a small voice.

The older man's face softened and he put a hand on the boy's head and stroked his hair. "Okay, Nicky, I know. But listen…it can be dangerous for you up here."

"But…the other kids come up," he protested softly.

"Well, they're older. When you're older, you can come up too." He watched as his son put his good arm over his knees and then laid his head down. "How about we make a deal, okay?"

The little boy looked up.

His father put an arm around him and pulled him close. "How about…when you want to see the horses, you let me know and I'll bring you up here. How does that sound?"

Nick smiled. "Anytime?"

"Anytime."

"Even when the big kids aren't up here?" he asked eagerly, seeming to forget the pain in his arm.

"Even when the big kids aren't up here. Just you and me. Okay?"

Nick nestled deeper into his father's embrace. "Okay!"

His father smiled and held him tightly. "How's your arm?"

"Better," he answered. "See? Look!" He held it out for him to see and bent it back and forth a few times.

"Whoa! Not too hard…take it easy there!" He laughed and set his son back on the ground, then stood up. "Come on…your mama's got supper waiting."

Nick looked up at his father towering over him, tall and strong and smiling. "You're not mad at me, Dad?" He had to be sure.

His father leaned down and gathered him up into his arms, the little boy giggling as he was lifted up high and then hugged against his father's chest. "Did you learn a lesson?"

Nick cuddled closer and nodded.

He looked down at his small son huddled in his arms and pulled him closer as he carried him toward the truck. "Good." He leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "Then I'm not mad."

Turning his arm over and looking at his elbow, Nick asked, "Am I gonna be okay, Dad?"

"You're gonna be just fine, Nicky."

_Who's going to fix you  
The next time you break down_

_Tonight I swear I'd sell my soul to be a hero for you_

The air conditioner unit under the window began to blow again, making a soft, steady whirring sound. He put his book down and stood up just long enough to reach the sweater that was draped across the arm of the chair next to him. He put it on and sat back down, but did not pick up the book. He wiped a hand across his face, lingering on his tired eyes for a moment before looking at his son. The room was dim in the late afternoon, but the light from the hallway was enough to show Nick's form lying in the hospital bed.

His father had been at his side for most of the 24 plus hours since his rescue from beneath the ground, although Nick was mostly unaware of it. He had been slipping in and out of a drug induced stupor during that time and had shown no acknowledgement of anyone else in the room during his brief waking periods. What he did take notice of, however, was the temperature in the room, even if he did it subconsciously. Over and over again he pushed away the sheet and thin blanket that covered him, and over and over again his father pulled them back up to cover him. Finally, the elder Stokes and the nurses had decided to turn down the temperature on the air conditioner in the room to try to keep Nick comfortable while also keeping him warm enough with the blankets. So far it seemed to be working, as Nick had left the covers in place for the past several hours.

Nick's father pulled his sweater closer around him in the chilly room as he watched his son sleeping. Since arriving at the hospital, he had stared at him endlessly, his heart breaking every minute knowing that there was nothing he could do to help him. The "worst" was over, everyone kept telling him. But he knew his son was just now entering a whole new world of "worse".

Nick's ordeal was evidenced all over his face, but even without the blisters and bite marks on his pale skin it would be obvious. His brow was furrowed…his eyes shut too tightly for someone who was resting peacefully. His lips moved at times, offering up soft, mumbled words that might have been pleas or prayers. Now and then instead of words there would be a sudden gasp or a low moan. And then, of course, there was the occasional scream.

He picked his book back up and began to read, but he had not gotten very far before he needed to lay it aside once more. He quickly stood up and went to Nick's bedside where his son had begun to move restlessly, making small, frightened sounds as his distress increased and he moved his head rapidly from side to side. As he had done so often in the recent hours, his father reached out and placed his hand against the side of Nick's neck and began to rub his thumb soothingly against his son's face. Within seconds of his touch, Nick's torment dissipated and he turned his head to the side, settling his right cheek against the pillow, and breathed in deeply before letting out a soft sigh.

His father hoped that this was the beginning of a longer period of undisturbed rest for Nick, but he dared not leave the room for fear that he would be needed. So he went back to reading his book, turning a bit in his chair to catch as much of the sparse light as he could. He made it through several chapters before he had to put it down again. He had gotten very used to stopping each time Nick needed him, learning to recognize the sound of the bed coverings rustling as he began to move about restlessly, or the murmurs that meant he was dreaming, or the sudden shrieking from a nightmare. But this time it was different. This time it was quiet and simple and something he had heard a thousand times before.

"Dad?"

It was the first time since his arrival at the hospital that Nick had shown any recognition or awareness of someone in the room. His father looked over to find him still lying with his right cheek on the pillow, his eyes half-closed but reflecting a bit of light as he gazed at him. He moved the chair closer to the bed so that Nick could see his face and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Yes…son. It's dad. I'm here…I'm here."

Nick blinked several times and looked around the room by moving his eyes, keeping the rest of his body still, before settling his eyes on his father again. He gave a small cough and began to stir in the bed and push the blankets down off of him with arms just as marked as his face.

"No, no, no," his father whispered gently as he pulled the covers back up over him. "Leave them there, Nick…okay?"

"But…" His lower lip trembled. "It's too hot, Dad," he protested weakly.

Even with the sweater on, the older man felt the chill of the room, but he assured his son, "I know…but it will cool off soon. Okay?"

"Okay," Nick murmured, closing his eyes briefly.

His father studied his face, wondering if he was sleeping again, and put a strong but gentle hand on his head, softly stroking his dark hair.

Nick opened his eyes and asked groggily, "Have you been here the whole time?"

"Yes," he answered, still stroking his hair.

"Are you going to stay?" He looked at him with tired, brown eyes.

"Yes…I'm staying."

"Good." Nick sighed sleepily and tried again to push the covers off. His father moved them back, but he didn't seem to notice. "Am I gonna be okay, Dad?"

"You're gonna be just fine, Nicky."

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**Thanks for reading! I have to admit, a part of this was inspired by my other fic in progress, "Four Eighteen". I liked experimenting with the flashbacks to Nick's childhood in that one, so I thought I'd give it a go here as well. Please leave a review if you're so inclined. :-) Thanks again!**


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